


The Lumione Drabbles

by suliswrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Cunnilingus, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Exhibitionism, F/M, Romance, Smut, Stripping, Teasing, Voyeurism, dangerkink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suliswrites/pseuds/suliswrites
Summary: A place to post all my Lumione drabbles - gifts and otherwise. A party-bag of sorts.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Comments: 80
Kudos: 237
Collections: Strictly Lumione Drabble Game 2020





	1. Five Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Teen rating. A Gift for GM Gaby. Drabble prompt: "No one is going to hurt you."

. . .

Hermione paced the platform behind the thick burgundy curtains, heels clicking in a dooming tempo like the countdown of a bomb. She could hear the mass of what might as well be all wizarding kind gathered on the other side, waiting. ‘Tens of thousands,’ they’d told her. More to attend than any previous ceremony in all of history. 

“I don’t know if I can,” she murmured under her breath, more to herself then anyone else. A pair of warm, strong hands took firm hold of her arms, turning her gently around. 

A finger tipped her chin up to look him in the eye. 

That piercing silver gleam, the amused arching brow. Gods he was not helping her calm down. Now two types of nerves were warring for dominance inside of her. 

He had the nerve to smile that dazzling smile at her, the bastard. 

“What’s this?” he asked, “Where’s that infamous Gryffindor bravery we campaigned so heavily on, mm?”

Hermione let out a great puffing sigh. “There were more this morning, Lucius. More death threats.”

He wasn’t letting go. This was new. Instead, he kept holding her arms, thumbs stroking soothing caresses across her bare skin. 

“Potter and I have set every ward ourselves. We will be on either side the entire time,” he reaffirmed. Likely for the fourth time that day. 

Harry popped his head in. “Five minutes, Hermione.” Even he looked nervous. Or was it excited? With Harry, she sometimes couldn’t tell. The threat of danger and action still seemed to give him a bit of a thrill. 

She wasn’t afraid of dying, not anymore. Not even of being hexed or cursed really. Death was no stranger to her. But losing all their momentum, being unable to continue the work they had built these long months - the progress they were poised to bring to the world - it was too great a risk. No, they shouldn’t have had a public acceptance ceremony - not with the raging blood supremacists’ threats increasing by the day. Hermione sunk her teeth into her bottom lip with worry. “But what if someo-”

 _“No one_ is going to hurt you,” Lucius vowed, a dangerous spark flashing suddenly in his eyes, words spoken with ultimate finality. Protective. _Possessive._ She could feel the power of his magic humming off of him.

The determined, burning threat in his stare reminded her so of who he used to be, of the days long past when he was that forbidding, dark wizard who struck fear into her with that same look, not her dearly trusted advisor and, dare she say it, friend. 

Now she realized, that same look in his eyes gave her a _thrill_. One that was all too connected to the suddenly all-encompassing need for him to keep touching her, to never stop touching her. 

She began to melt beneath his reassuring touch, nerves slowly dissolving with every breath. He watched her, eyes tracking across her face, lingering a moment longer over her lips. 

“And if anyone so much as tries…” Lucius said, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear, _“I’ll have their head on a pike.”_

“Merlin, Malfoy,” Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “As Head Auror I did not hear that.” With a final shake of his head and a quickly muttered, “Four minutes,” Harry disappeared through the curtain as quickly as he’d come. She stared after him, the heavy fabric fluttering in his wake. Lucius’ smooth voice brought her back. 

“Almost time, my dear.” 

Hermione’s mind began to race through her notes, rehearsed phrases, highlighted talking points. Her eyes practically glazed over reviewing memorized information, as they often had before her exams.

“You look stunning, by the way. Have I told you that?” 

He’d said something. She was sure he’d said something. “What?” she asked, dazed.

He wasn’t responding to her question. Instead, a frustrated crease of apparent vexation had appeared between his pale brows. Hermione felt the weight of the impending moment of ceremony upon her, mind continuing to snowball in worry after worry. 

“Lucius, I’m ready, I know that, we’ve prepared for this, I just - what if -”

With a growl, his lips covered hers in a fervent kiss. Charged, insistent, all-consuming.

She was frozen for a moment in shock, but then _oh,_ his arms were around her, his lips soft against hers, tongue parting them to claim her. Sweet agonizing _Yes._ His kiss was covetous in it’s unbridled passion. Hot, sinful perfection. A soft moan escaped her as he deepened it hungrily, pulling back only to tug at her kiss-swollen lip with his teeth. 

The room was spinning. Heat pulsed between her legs as she tried to catch her breath. 

“Y-you kissed me.” Hermione murmured, knees still weak in blissful, swooning delight. 

He smirked at her bewildered expression. “How observant you are.”

“But you’ve never - You _kissed_ me, Lucius.” 

“I did,” he said, his commanding embrace tightening around her as he leaned down slowly once more, stopping mere inches from her lips. “Are you sufficiently distracted?” he whispered. 

Desire thrummed through her. To hell with the ceremony. A bed. _Now_. “To put it mildly,” she breathed. 

“Good.” Victory gleamed in his darkened eyes. He turned her around to face the podium, pressing her speech into her hands.

Hermione shivered with pleasure as she felt Lucius press his body flush against her back, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Once you’ve finished, I’ve a thought or two of how we might celebrate...” His voice alone told her there was a devilishly wicked grin on his lips.

His teeth scraped a playful nip at her earlobe. _“Now give them hell, Minister.”_

Hermione felt the heat of him part from her. 

She took a deep grounding breath, an irrepressible smile spreading across her face. 

The curtains opened. 

. . .


	2. Two Little Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit. A gift for TriDogMom. Drabble prompt: "I'm willing to wait for it."

. . .

The last of the others filter out of the conference room. 

Hermione still feels high on her accomplishment. She’s been trying to get this bill passed for months. Finally, after all her hard work - success. Though she hates the circumstances of her victory. 

It just had to be _him_ to cast the deciding vote. It had to be _him_ who held the power to grant her what she wanted. _Him_ to take ownership of her achievement.

Suddenly triumph tastes bitter in her mouth. 

She frowns, stuffing her files a little too violently into her briefcase. 

“Two little words.”

Hermione spins around. So the despicable bastard has decided to stay and lord it over her. 

“Fuck. Off.” She scowls at him, turning once more to continue packing her files. The faster the better.

He holds his place, the spark of anger in his expression catching to a blaze.

“What a foul mouth you have, Ms. Granger. One might almost think you were raised by muggles.” 

Fury lashes like a whip across her body, burning red in her cheeks. How dare he, how _dare_ he! 

Whirling around once more, Hermione lifts her chin up at him, huffing out an indignant breath as she steps forward to point a finger into his chest. 

“The day I _thank you,_ Mr. Malfoy, will be the day I see you on your knees, _bowing_ before a muggleborn.” 

The smoldering anger in his gaze seems to shift towards something else. 

His lips part, eyes narrow ever so slightly.

There is a long pause as they hold each other’s eye, neither willing to back down. 

Then, in a single breath, the silence between them takes on a discomforting weight. 

“Do I have your word on that, _muggleborn?_ An oath upon your magic?”

Hermione laughs, the imagined visual of such an act absolutely ridiculous. _He’d never._

 _“Sure_ , Malfoy. Upon my magic: supplicate yourself at the feet of those you believe to be _lesser,_ andI will gladly thank you.”

Mischief lights in his eyes. Her stomach flips.

With a wave of his hand, she hears the door lock. 

He mutters a silencing charm. 

Before she can react, Lucius walks her back till her legs hit the edge of the conference table. Then his hands are at her waist and Hermione finds herself pushed firmly back across its surface. 

Papers flutter off the edges as she processes the shock, readying herself for some kind of attack; she starts to reach for her wand –

Instead she watches, awestruck, as Lucius Malfoy slowly lowers himself to his knees. 

The unspoken challenge beams in his expression, dangerous and exhilarating. 

Hermione stares in wide-eyed astonishment as he raises his hands and begins slowly pushing her pencil skirt up her legs.

“What are you doing?” she gasps, panic lighting her nerves. But the panic is met by fierce arousal that spears through her core, her knickers grow wet at the immoral sight unfolding before her. 

Lucius gives her a confused look, reply dripping with false innocence. “ _Supplicating_ myself.” 

His strong hands continue to track up, inch by inch. 

Hermione watches, breathless, transfixed, unmoving. She knows his sensuality is a weapon, she just hadn’t expected him to use it against _her._

Finally the skirt pools at her hips. “This isn’t –” she tries, “You’re cheating – ”

In one swift motion, Lucius spreads her legs wide.

“What did you expect?” he murmurs, nuzzling the soft skin of her inner thigh before placing a decadent, open-mouthed kiss on the inside of her knee.

She shivers, consumed by _want_ , voracious and unquestionable.

Lucius hooks his fingers around the flimsy lace of her knickers and rips. They fall to tatters.

 _“Oh Gods..._ ” Hermione breathes. 

He takes hold of her hips and yanks her forward to him, inhaling her scent. 

“Do you like making wizards submit to you, _muggleborn_?”

Lucius’ tongue sweeps a hot line up her sex. 

Her back arches against the cold wood of the conference table as the wail of pleasure leaves her. Her trembling legs dangle over the edge, toes curl against the leather of her heels.

All thought of stopping him, of caring about losing, vanishes as his mouth descends on her once more.

Lucius’ fingers dig into the delicate skin of her thighs, kneading the flesh. Savoring. He pries her legs even further open to him. 

“What a filthy witch you are. Forcing men to their knees in public places… ” 

His hand comes down hard on her arse. 

A sharp gasp leaves her, the smack echoes through the room. 

Then his mouth is on her again, gluttonous and unrelenting. She grips blindly the edge of the table, lost. A slave to the mind-numbing perfection of his tongue working her cunt to his will.

He sinks two fingers into her sodden heat. 

A moan tumbles from her throat, low and disturbingly needy. If he were to stop now she’d kill him. 

She looks down. 

Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, covered in the slick sheen of her arousal, is holding her eye with depraved lust as he begins to pump a brutal rhythm within her.

Hermione’s head falls back. She’s whimpering, an incoherent stream of whining pleas. 

He begins to spur her towards annihilation, savagely determined. Perfectly calculated curling movements meant to undo her very being.

“The _words,_ Granger.” 

She only bucks in response, needing more, more. Lucius’ other hand forces her hip firmly to the table with a grip so strong the pain is exquisite. 

The pace of his fingers begins to slow. She’ll lose her mind. 

Panting, she seeks his eye once more in desperation. 

He’s smirking at her, the silver of his irises has never been so bright. 

Holding her gaze he slowly bends, lapping languid torture at the now throbbing bud of her clit.

Hermione keens, rearing up against the vice hold he has on her hip. 

This pleases him. He forces her hip down harder. “I’m willing to wait for it. All night if necessary.” 

Suddenly Lucius’ fingers pulse to speed in her once more, merciless pumping thrusts in time to the rhythm of his tongue. 

He’s leading her to the edge and she will jump, _please let her jump_ –

One more look at him between her legs and she’s gone: the strongest orgasm she’s ever had crashes over her. Pleasure bursts bright through every cell of her body. 

The words rip from her throat, a desperate, moaning prayer: 

_“Yes_ – _yes_ – _thankyouthankyouthankyou_ – _”_

She is bucking wildly against his mouth, walls clenching tight around his still pumping fingers.

Eventually the waves subside. She’s buzzing, limbs heavy and useless, her vision still swimming.

Hermione feels the loss of him. Curses it. 

She watches him stand. 

Lucius removes a silk handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing his mouth with casual sophistication. 

In her daze, she sees him Accio her shredded knickers and pocket them.

He turns for the door.

Just before opening it, Lucius glances back over his shoulder, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“You’re welcome, Ms. Granger.” 

. . . 


	3. The Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Strictly Lumione Visual Prompt Drabble Game.

. . .

Does he not light his rooms in this ridiculous place? Probably not brooding enough for his tastes, Hermione thought with a roll of her eyes. 

She could barely make out the end of the parlor from where she stood. A slew of embellished portraits lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The faint flicker of a fire crackled out from an ornate stone hearth. 

If she was forced to wait, then she’d explore. No sense in wasting her valuable time. 

A quick spell lit a nearby candle to guide her as she set out into the dark room, determined to snoop for however long she had. 

“So you’re the one obsessed with freeing house-elves, are you?” 

Hermione jolted back from the parlor’s wall, searching the menagerie of sneering faces that stared down at her.

She lifted her candle toward a beautiful woman with bright silver eyes reclined on a large chaise. “Excuse me?” Hermione replied.

“You. The progressive mudblood, is that right?”

Hermione bristled. “ _Muggleborn._ But yes, I am progressive to say the least.”

She stepped closer, raising the candle higher to light the woman’s face. The other portraits winced disdainfully at her approach. A nearby portrait of a curmudgeonly bearded wizard hissed at her like a bloody cat. “Oh get over yourself,” Hermione berated.

She returned her attention to the woman, temper rising. “And who, may I ask, are you?”

The regal lady arched a judgemental brow in silence, before gesturing obviously to the gold placard below her portrait with an elegant wave of her hand. 

Without reading it Hermione knew her to be a Malfoy immediately, by that expression alone. 

Selene Malfoy, it read. 

“How do you do, Selene,” she said, forcing manners, “I’m Hermione Granger. Though you appear to already know that for some reason - seeing as I’m likely the only progressive ‘ _mudblood’_ you’ve ever met.” She couldn’t keep the edged barb from her tone. 

How long was that infuriating Wizard going to be? 

“You are a bold creature, aren’t you? I see it now...” Selene smiled, taking up the glass of wine from her side table. “Defiance.” 

“Defiance?” Hermione asked, eyes narrowing. “How do you know of me, exactly, Mrs. Malfoy? I have never been in the room you occupy. I’m here for a business dinner with your… grandson, is it?” 

Selene’s smile grew a gleam in her silver eyes at that. 

“Though he’s kept me waiting long enough,” Hermione huffed, the curls about her face puffing out at her breath as she looked once more to the door the elf had led her through, nearly half an hour ago.

“Yes, I thought he would,” Selene answered, taking a delicate sip of burgundy. “Take no offense. He’s nervous.” 

Hermione nearly snorted, her laugh came so quickly. “Lucius Malfoy, nervous? I don’t think you know your grandson very well, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“On the contrary, Ms. Granger. You are just the sort to make him nervous.” Selene stood, stepping closer to the portrait’s edge with an admiring gaze. “I see now precisely why he’s attempting. Proud of him, really. Though, poor boy, he clearly has his work cut out for him.” 

“Attempting what?” Hermione asked.

“To court you, you silly girl.” 


	4. Slipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Strictly Lumione Visual Prompt Drabble Game.
> 
> Rating: E  
> Warnings: Danger!kink Hermione

. . .

Sometimes, Hermione wanted to taste the familiar electricity of danger so badly she nearly screamed. 

That copper-tinged cinder dancing at the back of her tongue. The prickle racing up the vertebrae of her neck. Every cell alive. Filled with purpose.

It wasn’t a feeling she could voice out loud. She knew this. Would be considered mad. In need of treatment. 

Not even Harry and Ron understood. 

They blatantly treasured the smothering post-war comforts. They didn’t miss walking the edge of their own mortalities. Waking up every day knowing that every choice you made had consequences. Meaning. 

Friendly death, winking from the curtains like an admiring accomplice to each continued second of survival.

If she had to sit through one more board meeting. Pay one more bill. Go to one more baby-shower or pub night and plaster an appeasing smile on her face at the endless prosaic domesticity of it all, she would take a torch to the world herself just to have something to watch burn.

He understood. 

He winked from the curtains too, death-like in his own way. Inevitable. 

And her addiction fed his own. 

It was always different, the elaborate scene they’d play. He kept her guessing. Imaginative bastard, she’d give him that. 

They never spoke of it, and wherever he led her, she followed.

In fact, they’d never once spoken of the arrangement. Merely fallen into it wordlessly, somehow - smelling the need on each other like animals in heat. 

This time his portkey had brought her to an alley. Near Knockturn, no doubt. “Midnight” - the elegant script had read. 

The shadows themselves lit an immediate ache down to her very marrow. 

He’d trained her this way. Crafted scenes that he somehow knew would elicit vulgar, pornographic cravings in her.

First in duels. Testing her talents and reflexes. The very sight of a wand began to make her thirst for him. 

Then the mind-games. Pursuits through treacherous Labyrinths. Elaborate trials of her strategy and instinct. 

But then, it began to go further. 

He’d made the simplest things masters of her. 

The click of a door locking. The scrape of rope against her flesh. The cutting breath of a whip through the air. 

Till even the portkeys themselves, delivered always in an unmarked black box, sent a slicing heat of desire straight through her. 

And here she was, desperate for him at only the threatening mystery of a shadow. 

Wand gripped tight and ready, (for he always expected her very best,) she set off down the narrow walkway. Her steps as quiet as possible over the uneven cobblestone. 

When she felt her back slam violently into the alley wall, she reveled in the return of his intoxicating scent. It was the very meaning of hunger. 

It had been weeks. Endless, torturous weeks. 

In a heartbeat her wrists were pinned high above her head in a punishing grip. 

She’d savor those bruises for days.

His lips at her ear. “Slipping, pet…” 

The low teasing of his whisper made her ache all the more. “Disarmed in minutes. Are you even trying this evening?” 

She could hear the grin, tugging at his perfect mouth, as he pressed himself against her - urged his straining erection against her with a slow grind of his hips.

She bit back a moan, ashamed for a moment by her glaringly obvious need. 

What had this game become?

A distant street lamp caught the grey in his eyes and Hermione saw thrill and supreme amusement. “Has all that fight and fire suddenly left you?” he asked, searching her face. “Or perhaps you’re simply eager to lose, mm?” 

Hermione pulled helplessly at his binding hold, just to see the lust flare in his eyes. 

“I'll fight you all night if you like, Lucius. So long as you punish me when I let you win.” 

He grinned, a quick flash of devilish joy, before his expression suddenly turned to dark promising threat. 

He stared at her as the seconds ticked by in silence, gaze cold and penetrating. 

Just when she’d started to seriously fear the repercussions of her brash words, he lifted his other hand and tipped her chin gently up to him. “Oh you’ll _let_ me will you?” 

“That’s right,” Hermione breathed.

Lucius nodded slowly. “I see.” 

Suddenly his fingers at her jaw were dragging down. Over her throat. Between her heaving breasts. Over the vulnerable flesh of her stomach. Finally curving to cup between her trembling legs. 

“Funny,” he said, rubbing a slow, teasing torture over her jeans. “Here I thought I’d already won…” Forward and back. Again and again. Just enough pressure to work her to a frenzy.

Hermione pulled hard against his grip once more. He forced her back into place with a low growl.

She held his eye, tilting her chin slightly up to him with a seeking arch of her neck. Silently asking him to bring his face close to hers, as though she had any sway over his actions in that moment.

A curve twitched at the corner of his mouth. No doubt pleased by her gall, as he always was.

She felt delight and shock when gave her what she wanted, slowly leaning down till their faces were mere inches apart. His brow rose, waiting.

Hermione held his steely gaze, giving into a smile. “And you thought I hadn’t let you?” 

Her lips crashed over his. 


	5. Voyeur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Kinks of Knockturn Alley Drabble Challenge: Voyeurism. Rated E.

. . . .

Hermione never thought she’d feel safe enough with Lucius Malfoy to find herself walking alongside him through Hyde Park in the midnight hour. Yet here she was, floating on the pleasant hum of post-dinner whiskey and delighting in the warmth of his strong arm curled firmly about her waist. 

She felt like she was getting away with something, having such a pleasant evening, being courted by this man who had always been both forbidden and the subject of her secret fantasies. Hermione pondered whether tonight would be the night she finally decided to go home with him at the end of the evening.

A soft giggle escaped her as he pulled her off the walking path, leading them into a patch of wood. This close to him, his spicy, masculine scent completely surrounded her, leaving her feeling a bit lightheaded and hungering for far more than the goodnight kisses they’d left things at on their previous evenings together. 

Moonlight filtered through the trees, marking their forms in beautiful dancing patterns of blue, bright and wonderful as his eyes, as they wove around the trees in companionable silence. 

Then, from out of the expanse of shadow, a deep moan sounded. 

Hermione stilled instantly, tugging on Lucius’ arm and bringing him to a quick halt beside her. 

Again. Louder. Two moans - one rasped, one mewled - echoing out in blended desperation from the darkness.

Still holding Lucius’ arm, she peered around the large tree before them.

There, splayed in the muddy grass, were a young man and woman in the throes of passion. Clothing pulled thoughtlessly half-off and out of their way - her jeans only having made it halfway down her legs. Caught at her knees, restricting them. Those legs were thrown over one of his shoulders as he pounded relentlessly into her with a groan. She was drawing her sweater up, pulling her bra aside and twisting her nipples as her breasts bounced with the force of his thrusts. Their faces were the utter picture of pleasure and abandon.

Gods. Hermione felt every inch of her skin burn hot and alert. Her cheeks flushed with some unidentified emotion. Embarrassment? 

Lurching back behind the shelter of the tree, she pulled Lucius in the other direction. “We should –”

Lucius’ hand was pressed over her mouth before she could complete the words. 

Holding her eye, he shook his head slowly back and forth, sinfully mouthing “ _shh”_ as a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Hermione stared up at him in wide-eyed confusion, holding her breath as he brought his large hands to her waist, and calmly turned her back around. 

He slid his strong, warm body behind hers, pressing her forward with a gentle lean to look around the tree once more. 

The man’s hand was at the woman’s jaw, thumb in her mouth as she sucked it with pursed cheeks through their writhing motion. 

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, tensing as she watched them, as she realized Lucius’ hands remained securely on either side of her waist and were now pulling her back against his chest. 

The hot brush of his lips met the crook of her neck, and his palms dragged from her waist down to her hips. Seconds later she felt the hard evidence of his arousal press urgently against her arse. 

Circe, to feel him for the first time. Even through layers of clothing, to actually feel his need. Hermione instantly imagined him buried in her, making her keen like that for him. 

Just then, the man flipped the woman roughly over onto her knees, plunging into her from behind. He forced her upper back down to the ground with a flat hand and surged forward in another thrust, soliciting a sob of euphoria from deep in her throat.

Hermione almost moaned herself at the onslaught of visual and physical stimulation. Lucius behind her, the slick sweep of his tongue along her neck, his nose nuzzling into the curve just under her ear. Knowing he was watching and imagining too. 

Hermione leaned back, giving her full weight to him, her head lolling back against his shoulder as her mouth fell open in panting breaths. 

Lucius began rubbing feather-light circles of his thumbs at her hips – the minuscule gesture a livewire straight to her cunt. 

He was barely touching her, and already in this decadent eroticism he had her nearing the edge of a blinding orgasm.

The man in the grass had taken hold of the woman’s long hair and was yanking it back to him, arching her spine with every thudding beat of his cock. Hermione had never seen a woman’s face so full of ecstasy. 

“Lucius,” she breathed.

“Mm?” The muffled sound of his reply vibrated against her neck.

“Take me to bed. Now.”


	6. Giving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated E
> 
> Tags: Sub!Lucius Dom!Hermione

By the time he finally gave into her, he barely recognized himself. 

The crook of her slender finger, beckoning, would propel him across a room. 

Her instructions, be they cooed or commanded, were followed without question. 

The witch had him. There was no denying it. She had him, and Lucius didn’t particularly mind being had. 

Not if being her plaything meant receiving any meager scrap of pleasure she deigned to give him. 

If he were a _very_ good boy, she might even give him such a reward tonight. 

He imagined it pleased her immensely to hold such control over him; over a former enemy, a wizard notorious for his own dominating personality. He could see it sometimes, in her eyes. 

As in their previous encounter - her stiletto pressed into his bare chest, her cruel, contented eyes staring down at him as he repented, and something between a grunt and moan sprung loose from his mouth to beg, “Please, Mistress.” 

She’d smiled then, looking more the incarnation of true power than Lucius had ever seen, and released his binds in a wordless spell. 

From the ground, he watched as she took two slow steps back, meeting the edge of the bed and reclining back across it with all the grace of a queen. 

“Earn it,” she commanded, spreading her thighs wide to him, gifting him with what he’d been craving for weeks. 

As he began to draw himself up, she raised her hand in check. Lucius stilled instantly.

Before the word even left her lips, her expression of divine satisfaction sent him reeling with need.

_“Crawl.”_


	7. Shouldn't

_I shouldn’t be doing this._

Hermione was trembling. Murmurs of the not too distant party sent her heart thudding against her ribs. Being in the darkness of the garden maze wasn’t enough to make her forget it. There— she heard Ron’s laugh out of the chaotic buzz of celebrating voices.

_I shouldn’t be doing this._

She sucked in her lower lip, the sharp edge of her teeth sinking down into it’s soft flesh. Green shadow filled her vision, a wall of dappled leaves. 

_I shouldn’t be… oh Merlin_.

He nuzzled into her hair, breath puffing hot against her ear as his fingers found their way between her thighs to strum a steady teasing pulse. The silk of her gown was hitched up over his arm.

_“Please—”_

What was she asking for? 

His arm wrapped possessively around her, the thumb of his splayed hand grazing achingly close to her breast. She pressed back into him, unable to stop herself. He felt strong and warm and all-encompassing; his grip like iron around her, the hard, insistent length of his arousal grinding shamelessly into her buttocks. 

All night not a single word said to each other. He’d just stared at her. That horrible, perfect, knowing stare - claiming her across the room. His. His. She knew she was his even if she shouldn’t be. 

Lucius’ fingers dipped into her slick sex and he growled against her cheek. She spread her legs, sinking down, urging him further inside her. 

_“Please, please—”_

With a dark laugh he captured her earlobe between his teeth. 

“Say my name, witch.” 

Then he curled his fingers inside her, speeding his torture. She could scream. 

_“Lucius.”_ Only a whisper; the end hissing out through her teeth. _“Lucius.”_

The hand at her ribs slid up to her throat, holding it in his grip, arching her back against him. 

All her vulnerabilities given to him.

“Good girl.” 


	8. Disarmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously posted as its own one-shot - moving it here as part of the drabble series instead. 
> 
> I'm giving away nothing with this one. Sexy Lumione mischief with a twist. Based on a brilliant scene written by William Goldman from a classic screenplay you may recognize - will name the title in the notes at the end.
> 
> Many thanks to my dear friend and beta Constance for his wonderful insight and help. 
> 
> Enjoy. - suliswrites

. . . .

Lucius is descending into a particularly rancorous mood.

The gala went on far too long. He grew uncharacteristically impatient, seeking refuge at the bar, longing for the end of the evening. For what he had been looking forward to all week. 

And after all that, to return home to this. Unbelievable. 

His pride fumes, hostile, within his chest. He is not a man to be made a fool of. 

A swift flick of his hand sends the doors to his bedchamber flying open. He strides through into the expansive, shadowed room. At his will, the hearth in the corner and the candles on his dressing bureau light a bit too forcefully. He’s never been able to prevent his magic from showing his temper.

He removes his dinner jacket, itching to be free of its suffocating confines. A wordless spell vanishes it to the armoire. 

Next he rids himself of his vest, so consumed by his current state of mind that he nearly throws it carelessly to the ground. But even vexed as he is, he cannot lower himself to such a lazy outburst. He groans at the impulse. How plebian a tantrum. 

In another thought the vest is vanished to join the jacket. 

Standing before his dressing bureau he looks at himself in the mirror. 

He’s not so easily cast aside as all that, is he? 

Lucius turns his chin to the light, examines his features. He draws the edge of his thumb along his jaw, allows himself to contemplate his form beneath the dress shirt. 

No. His magic still buzzes with a virile hum beneath his skin. His visage is still jarringly handsome - disarming. Made _more_ so by the long lost folly of youth. 

No. Absurd. He is still a formidable and intimidating wizard in the prime of his life. 

Still, his pride aches in shameful, asinine weakness at the wound. 

And here, alone in his quarters, it’s even showing a little on his face. Disgraceful. 

Lucius pulls his silk ascot loose with a sharp tug, laying it down before massaging the tense muscles at the back of his neck. 

Opening a sleek dovetail box atop the bureau, he removes each cufflink, placing it on the waiting velvet.

He stares into the box, reaching up to release the first two buttons of his shirt. 

A glance to the left has him contemplating a decanter of brandy that calls to him like a temptress.

Closing his eyes, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Do keep going, Mr. Malfoy.”

Lucius spins, wand drawn. 

It flies from his hands and across the room before he’s uttered a word of spell.

Even before he sees her, he knows. He’d know her voice anywhere. 

She’s sitting hidden in shadow with only a faint glow tracing the line of her face. It catches in her amber eyes as she pins him with that stare; his wand now twirling absently in one hand, her own trained firmly on him in the other. 

Lucius rakes his gaze down the long legs extending from shadow into the light. The netted stocking, the black pumps. Her ankle draws back and forth as though in feline amusement at her waiting prey.

Blasted witch. 

Disarmed in his own bedchamber. Utterly humiliating. 

He returns her glare. His hands itch to encircle her delicate throat. 

She raises her wand in gesture to his partially unbuttoned dress shirt. “Please. Don’t mind me.” 

Lucius’ eyes narrow. Stripping at wand point? Surely she’s not serious. 

She lifts her wand a calm but commanding inch higher. 

There’s no bluffing with this witch.

Holding her eye, Lucius returns his hands to the front of his shirt. 

Her breath catches - almost imperceptibly - but he hears it. 

Fingers traveling down, button by button, he begins to slowly work it open.

Her gaze follows the revealed strip of his muscled chest, then his abdomen. A long exhale sighs from her slightly parted lips.

He’s reached the last. The crisp, white oxford hangs open. 

_“Off.”_

Lucius clenches his jaw. An indignant breath huffs through his nostrils. 

She raises an authoritative brow. 

Formidable, this one.

Taking hold of the fine fabric he draws it back over his shoulders, shrugs it off. It lands in a heap on the wooden floor. 

“Now your hair.”

Lucius lets out a gruff scoff under his breath. The _nerve_ of this witch. 

For a moment, he refuses to obey. Just long enough to see a rush of want and threat surge in her determined eyes. 

Her wand lets loose a crimson spark of warning. She drives him on with a sharp gesture of her chin. 

Never breaking their gaze, he reaches his hands back, tugs loose the cord securing his hair, and lets it fall to the ground. 

She isn’t even attempting to hide her satisfaction.

“Shake it loose.” 

He’ll make her pay for this. 

The command in her eyes is final; the instruction will clearly be enforced by magic if not by choice.

Lucius’ lip curls in anger. The look he’s giving her has sent the darkest of wizards running in fear - but she meets it, will for will. 

Finally, after a long moment of standoff, with a slight roll of his eyes he shakes his head from side to side. His pale mane falls loose over his shoulders. 

Ridiculous. 

She gives the entire length of him a long, appraising look. The hint of a smile dances at the corner of her mouth. 

Very slowly, she places his wand on the table next to her. Then, fixing him with a knowing look, she does the same with her own.

She stands. 

The click of her heels on the wood brings her out of the shadows. He barely has time to take in the skintight black dress she’s wearing before she’s standing right in front of him, looking up, boldly, into his eyes. 

She holds him in that look, unafraid, as her hands skillfully unbuckle his belt. Confident and efficient, she moves to unfasten his trousers. 

Lucius presses the tip of his tongue up into the edge of his teeth with a wry shake of his head.

Her hand slips inside. She’s looking up at him coyly, teasing her fingers along the length of his cock. Even furious - _especially_ when furious - he’s hard and throbbing for her. She takes hold of him and squeezes. A hiss of pleasure escapes him. 

“Do you know what I wish, Ms. Granger?”

“What’s that?” she asks.

His arms encircle her waist. In one rough jerk, he pulls her flush against him.

“That for once, you’d get here on time.” 

He kisses her with recklessly impatient hunger. Giving his need away. Reclaiming - marking _mine_ and _mine_ and _mine_ into her every cell. Deep and languid. Reminding her of their tether. Urging the aching, rigid, length of him against her soft, warm flesh. 

She gives herself completely to him. Lets him manipulate her to a needy frenzy in his arms. He can feel the impish smirk on her lips beneath his just before she breaks apart.

“For all you know I’ve been sitting up here waiting for ages, while you paced by the floo for the last half hour in your study, sulking like a fool.” 

He flips her around and pins her hard against the edge of the dressing bureau. An eager moan sounds from the back of her throat - the intoxicating sound riling his very blood. 

Lucius meets her eye in the mirror as he draws her wrists tight behind her back. He lowers his lips to her ear, nipping a sharp bite at the tender flesh. “Love to tease me, don’t you, witch?” 

When she pulls at his restraint there’s a thrill in her eyes. 

She grins, “I _live_ to tease you, Lucius.” Her hips urge back greedily to grind against his straining cock. 

He groans despite himself, grabbing a fistful of her curls to reign her, arching her head back with a tight jerk.

The desperate sound from his lips has widened her grin. “You’ve been so wonderfully responsive to my little game,” she says.

Devious pixie. Getting just what she wants from him, as always. So be it. 

Holding her eye, Lucius brushes the back of his fingers in a slow, tortuous, line down her spine.

“And you, my dear,” he whispers against her ear, hitching up the hem of her dress, “have been a very, naughty, girl.” 

. . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone recognize it? Based on a brilliant scene from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, written by William Goldman. I couldn't get this flip of it featuring these two out of my head.


End file.
